


Kiss by Kiss I Cover Your Small Infinity

by lilith_morgana



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Established Relationship, F/M, Lucifer Bingo 2019 (Lucifer TV), Sexual Content, Smut, Wings, wings and softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilith_morgana/pseuds/lilith_morgana
Summary: “You were about to tell me about your other-” he pauses, sips his drink and doesn’t take his eyes off her for a second. “-fantasies.”  Chloe may not be very kinky but it doesn't matter to the Devil.





	Kiss by Kiss I Cover Your Small Infinity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lucifer Bingo prompt **spill the beans**.  
Title borrowed from Pablo Neruda's 12th sonnet.

“One vodka martini for you, darling.”  
  
Chloe smiles and takes the glass from his hands, sipping her drink twice before putting it down on the bar counter behind her. Her back is flat against it, her shoulders broader than usual in the jacket she’s borrowed from him and his chest _burns_, flashing jolts of desire down to his abdomen where it coils, deep and dark like the Earth itself.  
  
He fills a glass of his own, enjoying the way her eyes follow his movements.  
  
“Now,” he says. “I do believe we were discussing important matters downstairs before we were so rudely interrupted.”  
  
Her cheeks flush the faintest shade of pink.  
  
“We were,” she says, almost defiantly. A part of him feels proud that she’s not changing the subject, not averting her gaze.  
  
“You were about to tell me about your other-” he pauses, sips his drink and doesn’t take his eyes off her for a second “-_fantasies_.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
He allows her some time to gather her courage. It had been simpler on the dance floor, earlier when her stomach had rubbed against his hips and her fingers had been tracing the muscles along his back; her breaths nourishment for his starvation, her touches water for his burns.  
  
“I mean, hypothetically, this is the kinkiest I will ever be.” She makes a shrugging motion to gesture towards the suit she’s wearing, _his _outfit, _the everything _as she had put it previously, before attending the Come As You Aren’t party downstairs as his date - or as him, more correctly. A much more distracting version. “Maybe.”  
  
_Oh, give me time_, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he smiles, running a thumb up the lapel of her jacket, tracing its outlines as he searches for her gaze. It’s challenging and determined and warm and he _wants_. Over and over again he is struck by how much he wants her. And while desire is old as time the rest of it is brand new, so much of it is so astonishingly new to him that he often feels himself merely staring at her. Like a human would. 

"I'll take it," he says, watching her eyes soften. He raises an eyebrow, lowers his voice. “Happily. _ Frequently_.” 

“Really?” She finishes her drink in one go, tilts her head back and downs it; when she meets his gaze again there’s a cockiness there that nearly undoes him. 

“Yes.”

"And you won't miss the orgies? They're not important to you?"

"No.” He shakes his head. “You are important to me."

He leans down and kisses her, gently at first, tasting the fullness of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Her hands are tugging at his clothes, at _ him_, until one of them comes around the back of his head to hold him steady when she responds to his kiss with more intent than ever before.  
  
The room spins slightly. 

“Well, in that case,” she says then, low and _ sultry _under her breath, leaning so close that her mouth dampens the skin on his neck as she speaks the last sentence. “Maybe you don’t want to hear my fantasies?” 

“Oh, _ please_, darling. What do you take me for?”

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
He’s spread out below her, hands resting above his head and that smirk of his slowly fading into a gasp morphing into a groan as she enters him, a curious blend of desire and adventure rushing through her completely as Lucifer urges her _ faster, more, don’t stop_, says _ please, Chloe, please_.  
  
She had asked for him at her mercy and he had grinned and said _ aren’t I always _ but they both know exactly what she meant and she’s dizzy even thinking about it, how she trusts him to understand, to listen, to never _ assume_. There’s a freedom in it, a layer of consent that overshadows anything she’s ever felt.  
  
There’s a wave of emotion - sensations, impressions, impulses - and she’s floating on it, eyes open and eager to see him, watch him as he watches her.  
  
The orgasm, slow-building and deep, is almost violent and she shakes when she rides it out, dipping her forehead to his, his mouth moving over her breasts, his fingers digging into her thighs and it’s fire, _ fire_.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
Chloe clutches the balustrade helplessly, her body arching back into Lucifer’s own; his hands run hot and heavy over her belly and then up to her breasts, cupping them with that hoarse groan she never tires of bringing out of him, his mouth wet along the line of her neck, her collarbones, the exact spot where she was shot by Pierce and his men; the invisible, nonexistent scar of a moment when they had broken, just a little.  
  
He’s behind her and she’s _ desperate_, rubbing herself against the cool glass, against his fingers, the rough voice in her ear telling her to spread for him, to trust him, to look at the city beneath them, the sky above them.

Breath hitching in her throat she looks up, gasping. 

And it’s grandiose and overwhelming, just the right amount of obscene and she comes with a high-pitched, shivering sound, tasting them both on his thumb in her mouth, on his tongue as it runs over her lower lip.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
“Oh, that’s right,” Lucifer groans softly, his head between her legs, fingers parting the silky pieces of skirt that constitute her dress for tonight’s party at Lux. “I forget how much humans love their Halloween costumes.”  
  
“Mmmh,” she mutters, resting her head against one of the bookshelves in his penthouse. “_We _ do.”  
  
There are remarks on the back of her tongue about how _ he _ , too, had been unable to stop staring at her silly Queen of the Nile outfit, how his thumb had traced the seam of the golden brocade top as though it had a mind of its own, his mouth hot and eager, telling her what filthy, wonderful things he had planned for her highness later. She loves him for it, for not even teasing her when she had drunkenly revealed that she wanted him to go dressed as Roman gladiator - he had merely chuckled and kissed away her embarrassment at having to admit there was a movie that she really liked and that perhaps the main character had been part of her intimate fantasies for a long while. And now that he’s kneeling in front of her, she finds that she has a hard time breathing properly.  
  
Chloe gasps, hands grappling for something to hold on to and he chuckles, teeth gracing a spot along the inside of her thighs. He’s wrapping one of her legs over his shoulder and she bucks, he places one of his hands on the small of her back for support and it only increases the sensation of his tongue inside her, effectively reinforces the mind-blowing sensation of _ drowning_.   
  
She comes quickly, then again harder as he hoists her up, changing their position; she shudders like a boneless mess into his embrace when he picks her up at long last and carries her to the bedroom, a smug smirk in place as she finally gets to undress the armour pieces and fuck him properly.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
The music is a heavy beat in her head, almost drowning out the rhythm of his body, infuriatingly far away no matter how close, always keeping the promised distance. Chloe makes an impatient sound, dancing closer to him.  
  
His hands travel up along the sides of her body, his head tilted as he watches her for a long time, before kissing her, slowly, deeply until the swirling sensation in her belly leaves her _ aching _ and there’s a weakness in the hollows of her knees.  
  
Lucifer kisses her again and there’s something reverent about it, about the level of his _ attention_.  
  
Her chest tightens.  
  
Then he stops kissing and instead she feels the infinitely tender brush from his hand over her hair, a trail of fingertips outlining the firm lines of her jaw, her chin. They touch her mouth, her neck, any bare skin that he can find and she hooks her hands into his belt, spreads them over his back.  
  
“Tell me,” she whispers through the music, the desire flooding her thoughts. “What you want to do with me.”  
  
“Oh, _ Chloe_,” he whispers back, voice gritty and low and she grinds up against his leg, the fabric of his pants feels divine; he arches an eyebrow and moans into the kiss. “Where do I even begin?”  
  
She moves a little, shifting position and biting down over a rising growl of approval as Lucifer responds by moving, ever so carefully, offering sweet torment with every gesture. He’s not doing anything, not really, but his eyes never leave her face and his voice is almost painfully seductive when it slips into her. “Now tell me.”  
  
The music and the vodka dim her other senses, numbing her to everything but Lucifer’s suggestions and his tone that is thick with implications and _ need _ and she downs her drink before he moves them both to the side of the floor and lowers his head to kiss her, open-mouthed and hungry as the music shifts to a slower beat. He puts his jacket over her shoulders and slips his hands in between it and her tight dress, holding her against him as she comes with a muffled, lingering scream into his mouth.  
  
He pulls back, just a little, to look at her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.   
  
“Bloody hell, you’ll be the death of me.”  
  
Chloe laughs, a rare sense of liberation filling her, swirling just under her skin.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
“Show me?” she asks with her back against the Sumerian wall. He’s already in bed, a perfectly composed image of desire or depravity, like some old painting of _ wanton women_. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous that it aches inside, so _much _that it still makes her breathless thinking about it, even now, months into their relationship. And the fact that he’s here with her, that she’s here with him, that he’s touching himself for her eyes only -  
  
It’s almost _too_ much.  
  
She draws a sharp breath at the way Lucifer moves, the sensual, deliberate gestures he makes.  
  
“Of course,” he says and the little glint of deviousness in his eyes lands heavily in her, spins inside her belly and her sounds are mirroring his own when he eventually comes, without ever looking away.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
He asks her if she prefers a man or a woman and Chloe honestly doesn’t know, not immediately, her brain still reeling from the surprise of hearing her confession spoken in Lucifer’s language of action and plans, spun into promises made over their sandwich and beer dinner. And he doesn’t mind. He never _ minds_. He brushes his lips over her hair, strokes her back, tells her it’s nothing she will ever have to do _ let’s just forget about it _ and _ sometimes a fantasy is just a fantasy_.  
  
“A man,” she blurts in his kitchen later, rummaging the cupboards for a wine glass.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah. A man. And I want er, you to choose him.” She clears her throat. “I want you… to _ want _ him.”  
  
“Oh?” he says again. “ _ Lovely_.”  
  
And he is, of course. _ Alexander_. He’s handsome and tall and with a charisma that makes Chloe blush though she would have expected no less. There’s a sort of vulnerability to his features, a quiet sort of respectfulness in his voice and when he looks at her, she realises, she feels comfortable. She can see so much of Lucifer - his preferences, his consideration, his understanding of sexual situations - in his choice of partner and it thrills her, twists delightfully hot and heavy in the pit of her stomach.  
  
They start out in the hot tub, champagne and bubbles and bodies, skin on skin and Chloe just watches at first, holding back the sounds of her own want as Lucifer makes Alexander tilt his head back and whimper something and it goes straight into her, all of it - those noises, that blissful expression in his face, the way Lucifer looks at her over his shoulder and Chloe presses her legs together in the warm water, thinking _ yes, oh yes_. Because it’s about _ them _ and it’s about _ sex _ and there’s no quota to be filled, she can hear Lucifer say that in a distant memory, an uncharacteristically sharp retort to one of her own remarks - _ there’s no quota to be filled here, Detective, desire is an expression of free will, leave morals out of it_.   
  
And later in the bedroom, that magnificent bedroom where everything is a blur of bodies and movement, together and apart, of her fingers in Lucifer’s wet curls and his arms around her body, of Alexander kissing his shoulder, teeth digging into the nape of his neck and Chloe _ shaking _ against them both.  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
There are toys and there is laughter, movies and books and way too explicit texting; there are a few cases of lingerie that she immediately feels trapped in and Lucifer gives away to more adventurous friends, there are impromptu blowjobs and handjobs and inappropriate places, occasions, hours and she enjoys it all. Or at least tries it all, all those things that have moved like shadows across her thoughts before, surfaced briefly with previous partners but never found a home until now, until _ him_.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
She’s straddling him and he’s inside her, slow and steady and Chloe maps him out, all the slopes and curves of his muscles and bones, every part of him another piece of the code she’s gradually deciphered. He plants kisses along the line of her neck, she suckles at his shoulder, fingertips ghosting over the places where he once had scars.  
  
Wordlessly, she asks to see them.  
  
Lucifer kisses her. He runs a finger along her chin, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he nods. There’s hesitation there and she knows it well, can almost taste it on his lips; there’s a past unforgotten in the scattered doubts, all of his realised fears and imagined sins buried within those feathers, the celestial weapons that they are. There's _ truth _ there and he admits it at long last, allowing her to see it with him.  
  
She holds her breath, their movements coming to a halt as he unfurls his wings and then, like a heavy, shivering exhale, they are surrounded by the soft light she only vaguely remembers from all those months ago. Last time she was enveloped by them she was unaware, _ unsuited _ perhaps but now they beckon her from all sides and Lucifer catches her gaze as she stares at them, mouth open and eyes wide. Her hands come up his sides to travel along this very real impossibility, the _ otherness _ of him.  
  
“_Lucifer_,” she whispers, the feathers running between her fingers.  
  
He blinks, makes a low sound as she strokes along the side of the wing, smoothing it out, letting her thumb rub circles over its uneven lines. It makes her own skin sing, the heat between her legs spiking as she grinds against him; his hands come around her hips.  
  
Chloe slips her fingers around the slick, oily base of a handful of feathers and bites her lip. Just like every other thing about him is intensified - his light divine, his darkness bottomless, his beauty all but cruel in its perfection - the softness of these feathers is erasing every preconceived notion of touch in her memory, altering her senses. This is love, she thinks. This is _ might_. Nothing else can compare. The warmth of them, the light in him, in this, she opens her mouth but closes it again, waiting for her words to catch up.   
  
“Do you…” she blushes, uncertain of why, but there’s something about the depths of hunger his gaze suddenly betrays, the glimpse of the ravenous creature he is, here in front of her. “Do you like it?”  
  
“Y-yes.” Lucifer nods and she can barely _ endure _ the want in his voice, the rugged edges of it, like he’s struggling to speak as much as she is. “Very much.”  
  
He moves inside her as she touches him, her hands rubbing, caressing, _ twisting _ into the wings that come around her body as if they’re responding to her, want to touch her in turn. And they are, she can feel them like flames over her back, tendrils of divinity sweeping over her breasts, her arms, causing her to moan loudly. Lucifer’s mouth is urgent, his lips catching hers, his hands holding on to her like she’s the only thing in the world and Chloe thinks _ I am, I am_.  
  
When her pleasure mounts she falls back into his embrace, the strength of his wings; her legs unsteady and aching around his hips and Lucifer, ever perceptive, immediately rolls them over. He’s still inside her and she pushes him deeper, closer, pulling at the wings to lock him in her embrace.  
  
He kisses her neck, grazing at her earlobe, whispers to her in languages she doesn’t understand but the shape of his words translate - _ you are the stars, Chloe _ \- and the purpose of his hands on her body is a song she knows, a rhythm deep within her bones.  
  
“Have you…” she begins but his tongue marks her belly as his attention takes another direction, one that she thinks about objecting to until he presses down, gently, _ teasingly _ on her most sensitive spot and she has to close her eyes, voice failing her entirely.  
  
“Never,” he says, allowing the wings to fall over her body, rubbing against it in a way Chloe had no idea they could and when she looks down, Lucifer gives her a look that says he didn’t, either, that it does unfathomable things to his own pleasure, too. It shakes her up, it wrecks her heart - his never is such a desolate thing - and drives red-hot jolts of deliberate, _ delicious _ fire into her flesh. “No one.”  
  
“_Oh_.” She falls back, panting.   
  
He sends her off first - screaming, entangled in feathers and sheets and the sound of her own heartbeat rising in her ears. Her hands aiming for softness around his wings but she tugs, kissing wherever she can reach and pulls again as the second orgasm drowns her carefulness.  
  
“I’m - oh, I’m sorry,” she manages.  
  
“I don’t mind.” Lucifer’s eyes are pitch-black and wide, his kisses taste of her, of him, of _ desperation _ as he’s above her again, his gaze beckoning. “Chloe, _ please_.”  
  
She takes him inside her once more, her legs wrapping around his back, her arms trying to reach around the vastness of the wings, of _ him _ , of all that he is and has always been. Kisses him, all the tenderness and cruelty he contains, every broken road and wrecked area light as air below her fingertips; her love mapping out the infinite borders of his being, drawing up defenses for every future pain imaginable. He’s caressing her face, her hair and she thinks _ you’re the brightest light I have ever seen_, thinks _ I’ve got you, I’ve got you_; she mumbles it into the warm air between them, moans it into the shivering feathers that encircle him like a tarnished halo.   
  
“Chloe- I-” His voice is a dark fragment, a hoarse breath.  
  
He wraps his wings around her when he comes and makes a deep, throaty sound that undoes whatever restraints she has managed to build up again. Shatters her. This man - angel, demon, devil - _ shatters _ her and she wants him to do it again and again and again.  
  
He says her name again, speaks loving words long forgotten into her hair, recovering with his face pressed into the curve of her neck; her hands caressing the untidy feathers, smoothing them out over their bodies. The divinity in this profanity overwhelms them both, she thinks with a tired grin, the force in this love reaching across the very realms of reality.  
  
“So,” she gasps, wiping sweat from her forehead with her palm as Lucifer drops sloppy, wet kisses up along her chest, finishing by kissing her slow and lingering on the mouth. “That wasn’t even on my - well, admittedly pretty short list.”  
  
He chuckles as he slumps down beside her and she scoots closer, placing her head on his shoulder; his hand caresses the hard line of her spine, her damp shoulder, the tiny splashes of scar tissue and birthmarks that covers her.   
  
A soft rumble from his chest as he replies. “I don’t think we _ need _a list, darling.”


End file.
